During a Peaceful Night in Moscow
by SakuraHawke
Summary: The blue light flows through the sheer curtain in the room, and he knows this is the end for him.


_During a Peaceful Night in Moscow_

* * *

The blue light flows through the sheer curtain in the room, and he knows this is the end for him. He stands in the doorway as he overlooks the sadly calming scene. The wind outside flutters the curtain around the open, white-framed window. In front of the window a girl no older than nineteen in appearance kneels on her bed. She's wearing a simple cotton dress and her creamy hair is loose all around her, also fluttering from the gentle breeze. Her back is turned from him, but he can tell she has her arms wrapped around herself because of the fingertips peaking out around her waist. Her body shakes violently, and she takes a large breath before she is, again, quiet and shaking.

He backs away to leave, but she stops him: "W-who..?"

"Ah-"

She inhales again, and turns to give Lithuania a stern gaze. "You," She says coldly, her eyes narrowed onto his fretful face. His chocolate eyes search for something else to find, to look at, to distract himself, anything! Her face was too delicate for him. He couldn't take her chilling posture or her alluring hemline. "Close the door," She commands him, and he feels almost like he should just leave. Just close the door like she said and leave. He didn't owe her anything. He didn't _need_ to be there. Her game with her family was her game. He didn't need this.

So why didn't he just leave?

What's wrong with him?

"Now," She commands again, but he doesn't listen. Her life was in her eyes, and it was sad what he saw there. He could see new streams of her country starting to form in the borders of her eyelashes. He couldn't leave. Not her. Not like this.

Instead he takes a long stride inside, and turns to close the door. A knife slices through his brown hair, almost nicks his scalp, and slams painfully into the aged wood he just shut. "How cruel," He only stats evenly. Turning back to her, she stares at him like a doe caught in the lights of a semi-truck. Only her eyes were the most beautiful shade of amethyst, not an ugly brown like his. Her body was much more curved and porcelain, not a horrible lanky thing like his. Her shaking hand just had that gentle look to it as it hovered over another silver blade that his would never have. She was everything he wasn't. And beautiful in every sense of the word.

"I told you to leave,"

"I'm not your servant,"

"You never were,"

"How come you haven't killed me yet?" She had the grace to look shocked at his question, but remembers herself and grabs for the knife. Lithuania has learned her ways, however, and grabs her thin wrist before it can rightfully claim the murderous devise lying on the night stand. "Damn it, Belarus, why does it have to be like this?"

"What are you talking about?"

She pulls her arm for the knife once more, but he grabs the knife and its brother and throw them to met their sister on the door. "I think you know what I'm talking about,"

"It's too late for this,"

"For what?" He sits down next to her with his clasp still strong on her left wrist.

"You know what I'm talking about,"

"So we both know what we're talking about?" He questions her since he, himself, had lost exactly what they were talking about.

She turns her head to look out the window. "It's so peaceful outside,"

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It's never peaceful outside,"

"Maybe it's time for a change,"

She glances over her shoulder to him, and it still surprises her how happy he looks. How can someone be that warm? How can he just smile at such a frightful idea like it couldn't be the end of the world? _Their world?! _She swears, he can be so juvenile sometimes for someone so old. "Your leaving us,"

"I thought we were talking about the weather?"

"_Don't question me!_"

"Why not, Bells?" He leans in closer to her face, and she pulls back. Shit, she feels so weak! Where was he? Where was the gentleness of his nature? Where was the gloss in his hair that she loves? Where was he going?

"Y-You," She turns back to the window, and pouts her heart out because she can't face that. She can't take this kind of treatment. Being intimidated just wasn't within her character. "...You're giving up on the family," She finally spits out, hating the acidic feeling it leaves in her mouth.

"Hardly," He studies the back of her head before figuring that it is probably safe to rest his chin on her shoulder. She jumps, but he lets her have her arm back and she swings it back to her side, letting it rest on her lap. "You think I'm giving up on you,"

"No..." She whispers, but he doesn't know why.

"I'm going to Mr. America's house. I'm going to stay there. There is nothing else that can be said about that. You're strong. You've said so yourself, remember? This is me supporting that. You are strong, Belarus." She enhales heavily, and her frame shakes under his chin. He lifts it, and spreads his knees. Gently, he wraps his arms around her waist and she only protests weakly by slapping his hands before leaning back heavily on his torso. Her knees are bent in front of her, and she wonders what this could be like. A summer in Moscow where it doesn't snow... Is that even possible? He rests his head back on her other shoulder, and she huffs out in an annoeyed manner. "If you don't want me here even one more second, all you have to do is say so,"

"Because that worked so well the first time," She elbows him in the ribs. Even though it hurts, he cracks a smile and laughs directly into her ear. She smiles then too, for he doesn't know just how lovely he is to her. And how sad she really will be to see him go.

* * *

_During a Peaceful Night in Moscow_


End file.
